God Doesn't Tilt at Windmills

(The following was published in the Sept/Oct issue of live magazine. Check them out at www.baptistwomen.com)

Sometimes God’s presence and attention for me feels as near as my next breath. Every thought is shared and each moment is experienced together as though I was holding onto His hand for whatever comes next. Whether it is to swing off His strong arm for fun like I did with my own dad when I saw small, or clinging tightly to make it through something painful or scary, I know deep down where you know things beyond a shadow of a doubt that He is with me. Sometimes this dynamic goes on for days or weeks on end and I feel as though I am living life the way that it was meant to be lived and sharing the sort of communion with Him that wets your eyes when you start to think about it too much.

But then, there are other times.  I  wander into them unaware and find myself overwhelmed by my own emotions and grasping around for God who suddenly seems extremely far away, if not non-existent. It happened to me the other day as a result of the silliest of stimuli—perusing a women’s magazine at the hair salon, of all things—when suddenly I was awash with an overwhelming sense of pathetic insignificance. A failure at everything I had put my hand to; at relationships; career. I had failed at building a lovely home. Failed at…fill in the blank. The list went on and on, rolling across my thoughts like a never ending news chyron of accusation and self-pity that left me silently caterwauling at God. I was still in the chair; after all (and tin foil crown aside) I didn’t want to fail at looking sane.

I’m learning to pay attention to moments like these when an unforeseen wave of spiritual turmoil knocks me off my feet and sends me gasping to God as I attempt to withstand an onslaught of feelings that seem to have sprouted from nowhere like mushrooms overnight.  I immediately start with God, begging Him to rescue me, change me, change something because I can’t bear to feel this way a moment longer. It has always struck me as so bizarre that in these most emotional of moments, God is silent and seems gone. It occurs to me that maybe God doesn’t appreciate being the recipient of such reactionary prayers. While I had been driven to pray; it wasn’t a conversation of faith, for faith had no part in it. It was more like a desperate whine. The kind of noise that elicits irritation rather than compassion. It was the type of praying to James is referring to when he talks about people who worry their prayers being like wind-whipped waves who shouldn’t imagine that they are going to get anything from God that way.  

 I was just jabbering to myself in my tin foil hat. God wasn’t ignoring me. He just won’t participate in a conversation whose primary premise is a lie—particularly one about Himself or one of His children. The trouble with feelings, though, is that they feel so real—so powerful— regardless of whether or not they have anything to do with the truth. The Holy Spirit speaks the language of faith and doubting God and His goodness toward you is a surefire way to wind up talking to yourself and not to Him. It occurs to me that those moments when I experience God the most fully—the most wholeheartedly— are when I believe Him; when I agree with His Word rather than trying to make Him agree with me. God is never going to agree with a lie regardless of who it is about. Neither will He feel the need to generate solutions for problems that don’t actually exist. God doesn’t tilt at windmills.